You'd best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner. You're in one.
You were flawless,
Cruel and thoughtless,
And all that you left of me
Is the ghost of...
— I hardly believe in ghost stories any more, Captain Barbossa. <...>
— You'd best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner. You're in one.
Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away
Now that you're gone
All that remains
Is the ghost of love.
Deep in my mind
I hear the chains
Of the ghost of love!
I had all and then most of you,
some and now none of you
Take me back to the night we met
I don't know what I'm supposed to do,
haunted by the ghost of you
Take me back to the night we met.
To me, the internet seems the natural place for a certain kind of ghost story. The late-night glow of the laptop screen; voices from another world... I found myself becoming increasingly fascinated by our growing dependence on the virtual world; the relationships we build there; the communities we create; the connections we make with people we may never meet in real life. This world can be a feast of friends, or the loneliest place on the planet. It's all a matter of perspective.